The Chances We Take
by SweetestLady-2030
Summary: We can't turn the past around; what's done, is done. The only way to survive is to be good kitties and accept it. Both having lost something dear, they seek a way to feel again. Does it take two broken hearts to mend one? M/OOC. Canon.


A/N: **I wrote this back in June for the **_Fandom for Sexual Assault Awareness_** compilation, which was created by two lovely women -** Aylah50 **and** coldplaywhore. **Since I'm late with everything, always slacking and forgetting things, I'm posting this now as a happy New Year's from me. Enjoy.**

**Betaed by** Le Crepuscule**, my lovely** Joanne **pre-read. **Lea** so very kindly agreed to make the banner; the link to it is on my profile.**

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><p>Penname:<strong> SweetestLady-2030<strong>

Title:** The Chances We Take**

Rating:** M**

Summary:** We can't turn the past around; what's done, is done. The only way to survive is to be good kitties and accept it. Both having lost something dear, they seek a way to feel again. Does it take two broken hearts to mend one?**

Playlist:** "Out of This World" **by** Bush; "Your Song" **by** Ellie Goulding**

Disclaimer:** Steph owns. Mine is the story.**

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><p>"You can say what.. <em>ever<em>.. you want," he pants in my hair, "But you _know_.. it would kill you to lose this. Wouldn't.. it?"

With each thrust he squeezes me tighter and tighter till I can all but wheeze due to the limited amount of oxygen I'm hardly able to pull into myself. My fingers are numb, white as a corpse's because of the grip I have inflicted on the poor, cheap plywood counter top in my kitchen. It had been light blue once, but during the years the color has taken a yellowish hue and now reminds of chlorinated pool water that hasn't been changed since the beginning of this damned century. My home-manicured nails scrape over the remains of the paint, gathering small, sharp pieces of it underneath themselves. _Prickle, prickle..._

This prickle is nothing.

A breathy sound, half-gasp, half-sigh, breaks out of me, and he responds with a grunt, obviously being very close to his climax. His long yet bulky arms, woven around me, tighten another notch, one last time. I lean my head back on his shoulder and kiss his jaw, the muscles coming alive beneath my lips. There is no affection in it, not a single ounce. Just saying 'thanks' for almost choking me to death and loading my insides with his hot, revolting seed. That's all.

I hate to think it, but the truth is he serves as a distraction from the thoughts that give me no peace whatever time of the day it'd be; a chemical I tend to add to my plain, gray life time after time in useless hopes of it turning into a catalyst and setting me off into a rainbow explosion, returning the color vision to my dead, blind eyes and some kind of feeling to my comatose body.

Lord knows all I wanted was to just _feel_.

Garrett's a nice guy. I didn't get off – as usual – but I'm happy to be of help for him. He pulls out, cleans himself and the floor up, then, apparently, zips his pants. I judge by the sound, because I'm not looking at him. I just stand there, my fingers still pulled together, like a sort of paws, laying unmoving on the counter. There's nothing in my head, or in my heart, even my limbs feel paralyzed. Still, I somehow sense him coming up beside me. Nearing me, then stopping his movements, his shoulders hunched as they usually are. His head bent forward, like mine, and his nose comes right to the top of my head.

Four ghostly fingers silently sweep over my left bicep before I stiffen. He stiffens, too, and I know full well what's coming next. It's suddenly dark – I've closed my eyes.

_Smack! _Garrett's palms land on the counter on both sides of me. His face meets my back between my shoulders and he presses on with all he's got, almost making me stumble forward. Almost.

But my body is numb, stiff, and I'm not moving an inch. Which seems to anger him even more.

His head snaps up and I know he's staring fiery holes in the back of my head.

It's always like this. And it's the part I don't get. I never have. I don't understand why he feels the need to ruin things with after-sex snuggling, kissing or whatever. We're just fuck-buddies, nothing more. No feelings, just pure physical. I'd laid this before him, a condition of sorts, at the very start when we first slept together, and he'd seemed to understand and accept it. But now I worry more and more with each time when he tries to embrace me or offers a caress. Maybe there's more on his side than just the necessity to get his dick wet.

Still, I don't want to bring that subject up. Who knows what could happen?

So I do what I do all the time. I push back slightly, feeling him hard again. _Does he need no time to regroup?_ I slide out of his grasp, ducking under his arm and exit the solitary confinement-like kitchen in a quick pace. He calls me back, heavy steps pounding after me. They sound slightly stiff; I imagine jogging with a hard-on isn't quite comfortable. A small smile crawls across my mouth, knocking on my skin to let it out. But I don't.

I raise my hand, not looking back, and round the corner, stepping into the bathroom. "I don't wanna hear it, Rett." Putting one foot on the edge of my bathtub, I push against the floor with my other and reach up for the half-empty bottle of bleacher. I'm a pedant about sterility, especially since there's a child involved. _My child. _

There's a hollow growl of equally hollow anger in the hallway. "You never do, Bella! Ever!" He breathes harshly, quickly. "But you know what? I'mma fucking tell you anyway, whether you like it or not. I'mma tell the truth." The last part is whispered hot on my neck.

I whip around and glare up the eight inches to his eyes. My face is cold, I don't feel my lips and I give no more than an imagined shit about what truth he's about to reveal. Let him speak. Let him release his rage. Let him do whatever he wants, why do I care? At least he can feel something.

After a moment of silence I can't stand it anymore. His seemingly fascinated expression, I'm sick of it. My left brow raises and provokes a reaction. _Finally_. His tanned, hard face hardens even more and his dark burgundy eyes turn black. Again I almost crack a smirk. He's so predictable, so easy to read. He hates being prompted, pushed or mocked, and after five months of sleeping together I know him so well. I see exactly which buttons to push as if they're plastered on his skin. I can play him to my own liking, and actually it's a wonder he hasn't bored me to death yet. I mean, five months, it's a long time. Half a year, practically. Guess Rett's different. He never stops surprising me. Never stops taking me to new depths, offering long-lost emotions prickle by prickle... Too bad he's not _the one_.

His mouth finally opens and he says something. The words seem to flow with no pauses as if a dam has been broken, and now all he's been holding inside is coming out. I hear nothing of his speech. His voice is muffled and incoherent once it reaches my brain. The words and meaning of his spoken anger and disappointment seem to get lost on their way through my atrophied ears. Bits and pieces, bits and pieces.. they fall away, they _all_ fall away.

My eyes are glazed over, as much as I get. Also, I think I've been staring at the wall behind his back while he gives the lecture. His patience is out. He's burning up, his eyes blazing, his cheeks flaming. Even his hands are fire when he grabs my shoulders and shakes me. It takes a while for me to focus back on his flushed face and I know mine's blank. I look down to where our skin is touching and get caught up in the difference. Cold snow next to golden-brown, freshly baked cinnamon bun. I half-expect transparent waves of vapor to start rising from him. Another smile slowly sneaks up and pokes me, scaring me. _I'm not allowed._

Something similar to my name draws my attention. I stare into his eyes again; nothing happens. I shake my head to try and clear it. Magically, it works.

"Bella." His face is soft and he eyes my lips, smiling. I think he wants to touch my hair. I just blink in response and wait for it. "Baby, I really like you. You know that, right?"

I sigh; it'd be hard to suspect otherwise with his actions present; the evidence is too obvious. My gaze drops to his crotch for a millisecond. He seems perfectly ready for round two.

He leans in to kiss me, but I dodge again. His lips hit my ear and he flinches back; shocked. Again, I don't get it. What's here to be shocked about, seriously?

But the shock morphs into something more familiar. He's hurt. Then there's cold acceptance. _Oh, so_ that's_ how it is,_ his face seems to say, and I feel a weird urge to scream back a loud and clear _Yes!_ for all the times he hasn't taken the hint. It catches me by surprise; I hardly ever want to scream, if we look past the times I've shouted during sex, but that doesn't count because I thought I _had_ to. To show him he'd done his job, served his purpose. But now, this is real. _I _feel real. A little alive, even. And I want to hug him thanks. But I don't.

The bottle with bleacher still securely in my hand, I brush past him and head back to the kitchen. He catches up with me while I'm still in the hall, making me jump when he slams his palms on both walls right next to my head. I don't stop, though, I keep on moving and squat down on the faded linoleum. I twist the cap off and tilt the bottle to the side. The liquid splashes around and pours out on the floor. I watch as the drops fall and fall, and fall, and fall, and fall...

He's there, I feel him. I lift my gaze and he meets my eyes. His breathing is slow and deep, his crossed arms moving with his broad chest, but I recognize the way his rage is boiling through his veins, hot and ready to explode.

Still, I ignore him and return to my task. Pouring, scrubbing, pouring some more. I use no gloves, so my hands are red and sore.

"Why are you doing this?" It's not even a question, it's a dejected statement, the sadness dripping from each of the quiet words.

I know what he means, but play dumb. "You know why. I can't have Ellie eating some shit of your fucking semen." My voice is gravel, my words are dead. Hard. Ellie is my only ray of sunshine in this dark.

"I'm not fucking talking about your damn kid!" There's a low rumble. I decide to let it slide. I hope he doesn't really mean it. He's always kind to her. "Sorry. But you know what I mean. Why are you always so cold to me? When I fuck you, you're all groans and gasps, but when we're done, it's like something's kidnapped the Bella that was beneath me and left a robot in her place. Why is that? Can you give me one _fucking_ answer, just _once_?" He sounds desperate, and his pain confirms my suspicion.

There are feelings involved.

I think about it, really _looking_ at him and considering everything. He wouldn't be such a bad option. He's good to me, good to my daughter, good in bed and has a job and a car. A fucking Dodge Avenger, a nice, matte black sedan. But I don't deserve a good man with a swoon-worthy ride. I can't give him what he wants, what he needs to be given, so I can't stay with him; we'll have to move again.

I can't even give him the answer he's asking for, because he'll want more and more answers, even if he says it's just once.

I stand up and collect the supplies. Their stench takes my breath away, and not in the good way. Finally I look at him, in a way that'd make Horatio Caine proud, and sigh. "No, Rett. I can't."

His breath leaves him in a _whoosh_ that make strands of my hair fly over my face, landing in my eyes and my open mouth. I resume the walk of shame back to the bathroom, and after a moment he's right there, following on my heels. He shouts, and I intentionally keep my voice barely audible.

"What do you mean, you can't?" His voice breaks and gets an octave higher. "I see you're perfectly fucking capable of speaking, Bella, and I also know you got some reasons for acting the way you do, so please, all I ask, give me something, _anything_!"

I imagine he's throwing his hands in the air, but again I'm not looking at him, and it's not like I really care all that much.

But he's desperate and won't take no for an answer. "Lie to me, _goddamnit_! Give me something to believe. Please." His voice gets quiet as well. He's shot all his powder, and it's been a complete waste.

"Isabella."

This gets to me. I don't know how the hell he's figured out my full name, but it makes me feel open. Vulnerable, unprotected. Either way, I don't let on that he's shaken me. I keep my voice even and put the bleach back before I've thrown it in his face. "I have no answers to offer. Please go now."

His eyes are wide enough to free-fall out of their sockets. He resembles a fish. "Is this how it is? Bella? You can't even talk to me when we're not having sex?" It seems to finally occur to him. "_Oh_, I get it now." I want to grunt a _Do you_, but I don't. "Sex is all you need from me, isn't it. You're too numb, too _dead_ to get your own rocks off, or are you _not allowed_ to touch yourself, either? So that's where you bring _me_ in. I'm your fucking boy-toy. I'm just a decent lay to you and that's all, right?"

His words sting with a cold fire and miraculously, make my cheeks flush. I want to kick him and scream in his face that it's not true, that he's more than just a way to get off, but that'd be too hypocritical even for me. I'd admitted that just a moment earlier.

"Please go, Garrett." I slump back against the wall. I'm whispering now and I have no strength left. My eyes close again.

He shifts from his place across from me. His left hand comes to rest next to my cheek and he falls forward. I feel his heat, his scent and his breath. He smells of sex and betrayal to me.

"I wouldn't want to leave it like this, Bella. God knows I'd hate to do it. But, if you don't give me something to hold onto, I swear, you won't be seeing _this_," he presses his member into my stomach, his threats landing on my face in humid waves, and I gasp without sound. He breathes in through his nose, the air whistling quietly, "Near you anytime soon. If ever."

Suddenly, he's gone. The front door is being pulled open, _"Bye, baby!"_, then shut with a loud bang. As soon as the sound rings out, I break down.

I cry no tears, I'm completely silent except for the faint squealing sound coming from deep within me. I feel nothing, and yet there's a distinct sensation I recall from a time long ago, tearing at my insides, pushing through every membrane until it breaks and bleeds a black hopelessness. I don't know that I'm moving until I feel the slick, disgusting covering of the floor under my thin cotton skirt. I also don't know how long I spend there before I decide it's enough of wallowing in self-pity and get up. _I'm not allowed. _I need to get my girl back.

I find my cell phone behind a pillow on the living room couch. No missed calls or new messages. _No one looking for me, little bitches. _The digital clock reads twenty to seven in the evening. Shelly's definitely home by now. I stick my frozen feet into my purple polka dot-adorned ballet flats and throw on my jean trench-coat. I move pretty slowly, stumbling down the three flights of stairs. I'm still a little sore and violated-feeling, but it'll pass. I've been here before. I slide out the broken door and find myself hobbling to the right when a powerful gust of wind hits me. I hate spring, I wish the summer would come faster. Ellie likes summer the most, too. She's only witnessed three so far, this'll be her fourth and I can't wait to take her to the Hamptons.

I keep on dreaming about the coming July, twisting the trench tighter around my body and dragging my feet down another block. I imagine it's warm, fragrant summer rain that touches my naked legs, not the harsh wind, and the last rays of sunset that blind my eyes instead of the artificial blaze of traffic lights; I hate them.

Shelly's place is not far. Two and a half blocks and I'm at my second home. We're about the same age, but she's so motherly, it totally makes up for what I'd missed as a kid. That's also why I do all I can to be a good mother, the _best_ mother to my own child. Firsthand experience is usually the one to stay in your memory.

I press her button on the intercom and a moment passes before her soft voice rings through the speaker. There's a cracking noise and she sounds wrong, but I take it and say it's Bella.

_"Oh, hey, lovely, come right up, the door's_ _open." _

I smile in spite of myself at her greeting, and for the millionth time I'm glad I have her. She doesn't hover. Much. She trusts without prying. She knows I will reveal myself when _I'm _ready, not when someone asks me to. She's just such a good person, golden heart and all that crap, and sometimes I'm afraid that I will taint her. Make her light fade, her happiness dissolve. But I've gotten too used to her. I need her too much to just leave her behind like I'll have to do with Garrett – he asked for it, obviously – it wouldn't be fair to her after all she's done, and also I believe it just might be too much.

I hate to think all I can bring into others' lives is pain and devastation.

My dark thoughts keep me good company and I don't even notice that I'm at her door already. How did I get here? When? Heck if I know. I sigh and try the knob. Yeah, she said it's open. Still, I keep quiet and cautious.

My steps are surprisingly nimble, my footfalls soundless. I maneuver the dark hallway and never trip. I'm glad, I smile wider. There are voices coming from the living room, Shelly's and some other person's. A man. Anger and worry shoots through to my throat, filling my veins and keeping me from thinking rationally. But I try.

She didn't say anything about anyone visiting her. She also doesn't have a boyfriend – as much as I know –, and whatever the fuck _they_ are doing there, it doesn't sound like they're boning. Then, I think of Ellie and I get mad again. A protective lioness. She's all I have, and I know too well she's a beautiful child. Long, blond angel curls, my chocolate eyes, cotton candy lips and pearly teeth. She's slim and small, but _damn_, a strong one. You wouldn't guess by just looking at her, but she broke quite a few ribs of mine during the delivery.

I scramble to reach her and my eyes can't take the bright light all at once. I slam one hand over my face, the other on the wall to steady myself. They look up to me only when I move my hand away and it doesn't obscure my view anymore. I am taken aback and prepare to shout.

The man is handsome as fuck and whoever he is, I'm jealous of Shelly. My knees get all wobbly imagining how _he_ could play _me_ with those long, porn-worthy fingers of his. He's sitting on the ground, his left arm rests on the edge of the couch next to Shel's mile-long legs, and all in all, he looks like a Greek god. Just grow a beard, curl your hair and take off the clothes. _Yes. _I'm sure there's a slight drooling happening. Whatever.

He has on a pair of what looks like bright blue straight leg jeans, beige slip-on sneakers that I find _really_ lovely, a white v-neck tee which reveals the tops of his, um, rather defined pecs and a beige waistcoat on top of it all that's got its only button unfastened. He looks a total yum and my reaction elicits guilt. It feels uncomfortable in my stomach, so I decide to ogle his face instead, as if that'd somehow make up for eye-fucking his body. I half-regret it just milliseconds after.

All of his features are too sharp, too perfect. A nose, straight as a ruler. Cheekbones, prominent, high, royal-looking. Sexy hollows under them, I see how his jaw muscles flex and it makes something inside _me_ flex as well. I shiver and go back to listing parts of his face. A sharp, manly chin. Not those stupid 'superhero-ones' they draw in cartoons, the _real_ _deal_. Masculine and hard. _Fuck_. A set of full lips that compensates the jaw and chin thingy. Too bad they're all but a tight line when my gaze sweeps over them; I would've loved to enjoy them completely. _Not_ just _with my eyes._

He's clean-shaven and there are no annoying chest hair peeking out of his v-neck, either. _Perfect_. I move on to his forehead. It's high and wide and I'm sure my whole hand would fit on it. He's scrunched it in a frown, so the golden, lightly tanned skin is marred with hard lines that look like they've taken a permanent fucking residency there. I want to see it smoothed out, but don't dare ask for it. A wild forest of copper and auburn locks on his head, and his eyebrows are the same. Well, except for the wild part. They're, um.. funny to say, but they look sculpted and combed in a flawless form, and I have to wonder if he's gay. That would seriously suck ass. My lips pout, but there's still something of him I haven't examined. The eyes.

A lethal emerald green, wide and narrow at the same time, and blazing. Yet dead. I know that look. The gaze that stares right through things as if they're nonexistent. They say eyes are the mirror of your soul. His soul is dead and his eyes are ancient, and I hate the thought of him being in pain. I focus on the thick, dark lashes and try to forget I ever saw the torment in him.

I feel like a lifetime's passed while I was taking him all in. _Not in the way I actually wanted to, but still._ I mentally grab at the dirty thoughts and push them down in some dark corner, then proceed to look at the whole picture.

Shelly, dear Shelly is sitting on her red plush couch, looking spectacular in her simple, light grey shorts and navy blue blouse. Her feet are bare and she has a pedicure done. Her glossy, wavy golden hair is pulled in a ponytail, but still reaches the small of her back. She's laid back, her hands relaxed next to her and her jade eyes smiling at me. Then there's the man, and at his feet sits my little girl, her back on the two adults and her attention fully focused on the toy in her hands. My heart feels lighter in my chest; it constricts and I want to go running to her. Scoop her up in my arms and hold her to me. She's all I have. And I remember my anger at Shelly. My vocal cords surrender to it, and words go rushing over my lips and fall to the floor in a messy heap.

I stomp a step forward. "What is this?" My voice is hard and intolerant. It confuses Shelly.

"What's what? I don't.." She shakes her head. "What's wrong, Bella?"

Her stuttering fuels my involuntary assault, but I'm still angry at Garrett for fucking up my day and I need to get rid of that before I start yelling at Ellie for hating the wind.

"_Really_, Shel?" Another aggressive step. "What did we agree on about bringing men home when Ellie is with you? Do you even remember?" She seems to get me. About time. "What if they're some pervs who get off to nasty fantasies about my _fucking_ daughter? You can never know, maybe they're _pedophiles_? What if she gets left alone and hurts herself? What if she walks in on you fucking _blowing_ them or something? Huh? Have you thought about _this_," I wave my hand around, not pointing to anything, "Possibly causing her a goddamn trauma? Didn't think so." I sneer and continue. Shel doesn't deserve this and I am sorry, but I can't stop now. "'Cause, anyway, you wouldn't be the one left to tend to her. Not the one to pay for docs and drugs and shit, or _anything_." I pause and take a deep breath.

The man looks worried; he shifts, moving to sit on the couch, and slides his eyes from mine to Shel's. She looks puzzled, amused, not quite understanding whether to laugh or slap the shit out of me. My voice is shrill, I may be disturbing Ellie's playtime. She's a quiet child, she won't say anything, but I hate myself for cursing in her presence. I seriously consider letting Shel beat me. I move closer to her, tentatively now, ashamed of my behavior, and peek at her as a naughty puppy, bracing myself for the punishment. _I'm sick._

Instead, she snorts. It's short and not very conspicuous, but her cheeks are round and full of air and she bursts in a happy roar that makes Ellie lift her head and finally notice me.

"Mooom!" She pushes herself up and takes off running into my open, inviting arms. It's only a few steps, but anyhow, she reaches me and is a little short of breath. Her small, delicate arms weave around my neck and pull on my hair. It doesn't hurt, nothing hurts anymore. But she warms me. My blood boils and even my toes are hot now. She smells like chocolate and I take a lungful of her hair, stroking it. I'm home.

"I missed you, Mommy," she sighs in my ear. There are tears being born behind my lids. "Auntie Shel is very nice, but I love you better."

Now I'm down on the ground. "_Oh_, honey bee, I missed you too." I hug her as tight as I dare to not break her bones, then pull back, holding on to her small shoulders. She is smiling a lovely smile, showing most of her pretty teeth, and her eyes sparkle-sparkle like diamonds. She's too beautiful.

But my peace is disturbed by Shel's laughter that sound like a mix between a horse and a fairy. It's adorable at any other time, but I'm pissed and embarrassed enough for one day. I scoot over to the couch and use it to get up. My left hand holds Ellie's right one tight, and I stare at my friend. After a moment her sounds die to giggles and I speak.

"If you're done guffawing at me, would you _please_ be so kind and explain who is this nice gay.. shit, I mean, _guy_?" My face is red and I want to be dead. Ellie squeezes my fingers in her little palm and I remember I can't wish for that. I turn to Shel and listen.

She smirks at the _guy _in question and gives me the answer I'm not looking for. "Bella, this is Edward, Edward – Bella." She waves her hands around like the propeller of a helicopter and looks extremely pleased with herself and the whole messed-up situation. By this time Edward's stood up, his anguish-tainted eyes trained on my daughter's hand in mine, and his nose scrunches up as if he'd gotten a knife in his gut or something. I feel sorry for him.

I stretch out my hand and he takes it, slowly. His fingers are cold and there's a wet feel to his skin, like he's sweating, but I think that's not it. Hell, I feel like I _know_ it's not it. We shake our joined palms in sync, up and down, up and down. _It's a pleasure._

He gives me a tight smile as he lets my hand fall, and maybe it's just my tired eyes, but he seems the slightest bitty-bit more relaxed. Like he's taken his pill or a shot or a cig. I don't know. I can't explain what I see even to myself, and I feel insane.

"Nice to meet you, Edward, really, but this doesn't explain sh..it..." My voice drops at the end and I glance at my babe. She just smiles at my new acquaintance, a serene smile, to which he responds with thick swallowing and a nervous rub of his hands down his jean-clad thighs. It makes me wonder if maybe I wasn't all _that_ wrong with my initial assumption about his intentions. I quickly raise my eyes to the ceiling and ask the lamp to _please_ make it so that Ellie doesn't add my expletives to her vocabulary. It would suck balls.

"Shelly? _Who_ is he?" I whisper-shout, even though it's silly to imagine _he_ won't hear me.

Bitch plays dumb. "He's Edward. I just introduced you to him," she whispers back. I hear a seemingly far-away sound, like a grunt and a moan of pain and annoyance. It's coming from Edward and Ellie's hand grabs mine even tighter, but I don't turn back. I don't dare.

I feel like slapping Shel, though. "I know his name, thank you very much. I meant _who_ is he. Like what's he to you, what's he doing here."

"Ohh!" She exclaims, not even hiding anymore. I suppress an eye-roll and regret opening my goddamn mouth in the first place. "He's my cousin."

Oh.

When I look at Edward, he smiles sadly. There _is _some resemblance in their profiles and they're both tall. I'm tired and don't look any further.

"Didn't you say your cousin was a _woman_?" I hiss at Shel, but it's not angry anymore.

I feel his gaze crawling over the left side of my face and, when I turn, I'm right. His haunted eyes bore into mine and straight through my skull. He opens his mouth and looks lost. "Miss, Bella; sorry. I _do_ have a sister, so _technically_ Shelly wasn't lying." His voice is liquid fire and I feel like falling, and falling, and falling so deep into an abyss no one can pull me out of.

But Ellie is my anchor and I hold on to her. I'm exhausted of being angry and shouting, and cursing, and assuming, and seeing people like me, and wanting _him_. It's too much and I want to sleep.

"Next time, Shel," I warn, slurring a bit, "You better give deets like this _before_ I go busting their balls for ogling my daughter." I sound harmless even to myself and it makes me crack a smirk along with their chuckles. Ellie is smiling all the time, it's nothing new. She's a happy child, oblivious to the fuckery around her. I'm jealous of her, but I'm still amused by her and myself. We're a weird duo. Edward, too, curls his lips in a crooked, fuck-hot, but still a sad little grin.

"Well, we'll be going now. It's late." To my surprise, Edward kneels down and Ellie skips over to him, granting him with a hug. He looks like he just might explode, but not in the bad way. Good for him. He looks up at me, scared, _like the fucker should be,_ but I feel bad 'cause in the end I mean no harm. He lets her go and I think he'll cry. But he doesn't, he just stands, brushes his hands down his pants again and takes a step towards me. His lips are a white, hard line as he tries to smile. It seems he wants to hug me, too, but is hesitant. So am I. _Oh, the heck with it,_ I think and my hands meet each other behind his back, giving him a light pat.

"Goodnight, Edward."

"Goodnight, Bella. Bye, Ellie!"

Shel follows us out into the hallway. I catch the last glimpse at this unreadable person and he is sitting on the couch, his shoulders slumped forward, his elbows on his thighs. He's stiff and he stares at the far wall, looking focused and dozed-off at the same time. His lids are drooping a bit and the dark circles under his eyes scream at me as I round the corner.

I dress Ellie in relative silence. We don't speak until we get out the door, but the kid is humming some tune that sounds much like Ellie Goulding's _Your Song_. It's happy and the perfect match for her; full of positivism and this day is anything _but_. I don't get it, but I can't help the nagging hope knocking on my spine. The hope for things changing, hope for better days. Not just for us.

Shelly calls to Edward that she'll be a minute but gets no response. Either way, we step out of the apartment and carefully climb down to the exit. I'm stalling, but she knows me so well and answers before I ask.

"He's staying with me for a while till he finds a place in town. And a job, hopefully." The words are cautious, the tone is guarded. I stare at her till she relents and sighs. She remembers she can trust me, and that's relieving. "The last couple of months haven't been easy on him, Bella. It's not my story to tell, but let's just say one day fate came along and took away practically everything he held dear." She likes to riddle, I knew that already.

My eyebrow raises and she's silent. Her palm finds her forehead, then her cheek. "I don't know, I guess I was kinda hoping you'd get close.. help each other cope with whatever has happened. Maybe as the time passes..." She coughs an empty laugh. "I'm just a lame-ass dreamer and a shitty matchmaker, right? I need to find a fucking job."

I hug my hand around her shaking shoulders. She's cold and her face is wet. I wipe the tears away and she squats to let Ellie kiss it better. "She's such an angel, Bella." I also knew _that _already.

I offer my hand to help her stand and pull her to my chest. "Take care of yourself. _And_ him. Whatever happened, I hope he learns to live with it, soon." I mean it. He looks too much like me to not give a shit about the poor soul. I know I'd have wanted someone to wish this _for_ _me_, so... I close my eyes and want to shut the door that leads to that barren field of poisonous memories forever.

She stands at her door until we are out on the street and she can't see us anymore. She seems either totally indifferent, or too concerned. That's just the way she is, and I don't give that too much thought. I pray the past doesn't catch up with us and screw over _her _life as well.

I ask Ellie how was her day and she tells me they went to the Central Park, saw a puppet show and ate vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup. I want to laugh because it's fucking April, although warm, but I don't want to ruin her happy reminiscing and just tell her it sounds nice.

"It was," her smiley voice chirps.

We're home before I know it and even though it's not the safest neighborhood, all the bullies seem to be elsewhere tonight. I'm glad and I let us in without looking back over my shoulder like the paranoid woman I am totally should. I can't make myself care.

Ellie has warm milk and a toast with two slices of cheese for 'dinner', and I sip lukewarm peppermint tea from a mug adorned with four too-happy-looking snowmen. She's done quickly – she loves her cheese toasts – and we head to the bathroom. Miss Goulding's _Your Song_ is on repeat in the background as we get ready for bed, and her voice truly _is_ spectacular.

I tuck my girl in her bed and we sing along till she falls asleep. I know I won't be able to spend the night in my own room, so I snuggle up beside her and she unconsciously hugs my neck. I love her, and I foolishly hope Edward has someone to love _him_ tonight.

_It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside, I'm not one of those who can easily hide..._

I dream of a family. Green eyes that are warm and alive. A marvelous house at the beach to spend the summers. A good, peaceful life for everyone they know. An angel of a daughter and a big, clumsy puppy for her to play with. Time passes and they are stronger and happier than ever before, and it's clear that nothing can take it away. Time is bullshit. Space holds no power over them. They are radiant and beautiful and everyone admires them. And when someone has to go, they aren't sad. They know they'll meet again, they'll be home and at eternal peace and waiting for the others to come into their arms, because _they never forget_.

A tear runs down my cheek. I pray _they_ remember me, and it's too much hoping for one day. For one lifetime.

* * *

><p>AN: **As always, this started out as a simple one-shot. But I have plans for this. It might not come at once, and handling two WIPs has never been an easy job, but I think I'll get there eventually.**

**As for 'ghosts of the past' - I'm pulling** "Hear Me"**. My apologies to everyone who'd gotten into it; I've come to realize it's just not gonna work. For now, at least. That original storyline isn't cooperating and I just can't set my mind into the right mood, so nothing's gonna come of it. If You're an author and would like to adopt the plot (or know someone else who'd want to), I'm all ears.**

**Either way, here we are. I hope You liked it, and I hope You have the wildest New Year's Eve parties and the best beginning of the 2012th. **

**Till the next time,**  
><em>SL<em>


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